The limousine ride back from the Rutherford Hotel was suffocatingly quiet. Emma sat rigid, hands clenched in her lap, trying not to let her anxiety show. Adrian scrolled through messages on his phone, his expression carved from granite.
Her mind replayed his phone call over and over.
> "If this leaks, everything falls apart—including her…"
Who was he trying to protect her from? Or was she simply another pawn in some dangerous game?
When they arrived back at the penthouse, Ellis held the door open for her with a sympathetic glance. She managed a tight smile before hurrying inside. The marble foyer, so pristine and cold, seemed to swallow her whole.
Adrian followed at a measured pace. She heard his footsteps behind her—calm, deliberate, each one landing like a silent accusation.
"Go to bed, Emma," he said at last, voice low. "We have another public engagement tomorrow. A brunch with the Martens family."
"Are we going to pretend again?" she blurted before she could stop herself. The words hung between them like shattered glass.
He tilted his head, studying her. "Isn't that what you signed up for?"
She flinched. Of course it was. But it didn't change the crawling unease that wrapped around her heart like vines. "I just thought…" Her throat tightened. "Maybe you could tell me what I'm really getting dragged into."
Adrian's jaw flexed. For a heartbeat, she saw something flicker in his dark eyes—regret? Pain? Then it was gone, replaced by the cool indifference he wore like a second skin.
"Go to bed, Emma," he repeated.
She climbed the stairs on trembling legs, feeling his gaze burn into her back the whole way up.
Emma didn't sleep. She lay in the huge guest room bed, staring at the ceiling. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and something darker—maybe cedar, maybe Adrian. It was maddening.
Around 2 a.m., she gave up trying. She wandered down the hall toward the kitchen, hoping a glass of water would settle her racing heart.
That's when she heard it—a voice, low and urgent. Adrian's.
She crept closer, pausing near the study door. It was slightly ajar again, light spilling into the hall.
> "I said keep monitoring her. No mistakes. If she finds out before I'm ready…" A long pause. "Then you know what to do."
Her blood ran ice cold.
Monitoring?
What did he mean—before he's ready? Ready for what?
She backed away too quickly, bumping into a side table. A crystal vase toppled and shattered on the floor with a shrill crash.
The study door flew open. Adrian stood there, dark and terrible in the dim light, phone still clutched in his hand.
"Emma." His voice was dangerously soft.
She stammered, "I—I couldn't sleep, I was just—"
"Eavesdropping?" He advanced on her slowly, like a predator savoring the fear. "Did you hear anything interesting?"
She shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. "No! I swear—I just—"
In one swift motion, he reached out, his hand wrapping around her wrist. Not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that she couldn't pull away. His face hovered inches from hers, his breath warm against her cheek.
"Remember our rules," he murmured. "No questions. No complications. You signed that."
Her heart pounded so violently she thought she might faint. "I remember."
For a moment, something softer seemed to war with the cold menace in his eyes. Then he released her abruptly, turning away.
"Go to bed, Emma. And stay out of my business."
She fled, stumbling down the hall, too terrified to look back.
The next morning dawned grey and rainy. Ellis drove them to the upscale Martens estate in Greenwich, a sprawling white mansion surrounded by manicured lawns and dripping roses. Emma's nerves frayed with every passing mile.
Adrian didn't speak to her once. But he kept a possessive hand at her waist when they arrived, guiding her through the crowd with that same glacial poise.
She smiled and laughed at all the right moments, clinging to her flute of champagne like it was a life raft. But inside, she was unraveling. Every time Adrian leaned down to whisper a polite greeting in someone's ear, she wondered if it was really a threat. Every smile seemed laced with poison.
At one point, she stepped away to take a call from her father. His voice cracked with relief when she assured him the bakery debts were cleared. That alone almost made the nightmare worth it. Almost.
When she returned, she spotted Adrian on the far side of the garden, speaking in hushed tones with a sharp-faced older man. The stranger had his hand on Adrian's shoulder, gripping too tightly. Adrian's posture was stiff, his jaw clenched.
Emma tried to edge closer, curiosity burning in her chest. But before she could hear anything, Adrian's eyes snapped to hers across the garden. Cold, warning. Her feet froze to the ground.
The older man followed his gaze, then gave Adrian a thin smile. He clapped him on the back and walked away, disappearing into the party.
Emma shivered, hugging herself.
> Who was that? What were they planning?
That night, back at the penthouse, she confronted Adrian as he poured himself a drink in the darkened living room.
"Who was that man today? The one in the garden."
He didn't even turn. "A business associate."
"Don't lie to me. I can tell there's more—"
His glass landed on the bar with a sharp click. Slowly, he turned to face her. "Emma, I've been patient. But this curiosity of yours is going to get you hurt."
Her breath hitched. "Is that a threat?"
His expression didn't change. "It's a promise. For your own good."
She fled to her room, slamming the door and sinking to the floor. Her hands shook so badly she could barely cover her face.
Outside her window, the city glittered like broken glass. Somewhere out there was the normal life she'd traded away—sunday mornings at the bakery, her father humming over the ovens, simple, honest struggle.
Now she was trapped in this gilded cage with a man who terrified her more every day.
She was still awake hours later when her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
> "If you want to survive this marriage, meet me tomorrow. 3 p.m. Central Park fountain. Come alone."
Her stomach dropped.
> Who was this? What did they know?
She stared out into the endless night, pulse racing, as dread settled like a stone in her belly.